


Even Stars Die

by Kara_Eclipse



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-02-17 08:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kara_Eclipse/pseuds/Kara_Eclipse
Summary: The House of Finwe burns like the stars yet everyone says that even stars die.





	1. Curufin's last thought in Doriath

> Soft gurgling and wet coughing echoed through the room. Curufin curled weakly trying to ease the pain in his chest that even now was lessening from numbness. The other pain there was utterly untouchable as was the burning poisonous agony he felt running through his mind. Tears of pain ran down his face through the small splatters of blood, emotional pain not physical for that hardly mattered at this point.
> 
> Outside the room the battle continued much as it had gone thus far, their forces winning but at a cost. He felt a weight press down over the stab would that was steadily draining his life away and snarled at whatever it was, too weak and too tired to do anything else. His eyes flickered open to see the bloodstained silver hair of his brother and reluctantly relaxed. It was too late, especially without Caranthir coming.
> 
> Seeing the state Celegorm was in Curufin wondered if this was their punishment for failing their family. They had promised to return with the Silmaril and now… now neither of them was going to return. Maedhros and Maglor would be hurt if they survived. Who was he kidding? Of course they would survive. Not even Morgoth and his dragons had slain either of them. What would they tell Celebrimbor?
> 
> Would his son know that he was right? That Curufin had lost sight of where he was going. Perhaps Maglor would write him a letter telling of his love for his son. He wished it would be so, that Tyelpe would find our that Curufin never stopped loving him and being so so proud of him even after he’d denounced him. Tears were streaming faster now, and the horrible wet coughs were nearly choking him. He felt his shoulders get lifted slightly sending fire racing through his body drawing a weak moan of pain from his lips.
> 
> Looking at Celegorm he tried to raise a hand. His brother caught his hand and nodded, his eyes so sad and pained. Curufin smiled faintly and with the last of his strength breathed the name of the last and only person who was in his thoughts, his voice breaking and filled with love and regret.
> 
> “Tyelpe…”


	2. Finwe's Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a thread I had going on my roleplaying account, though it has nothing to do with that thread.

It should have been expected. He knew that it should have been expected just knowing the Dark Vala and all that he had done in the past. Even if he hadn’t listened to the warning signs that his sons always brought up rather than replying that the Valar knew what they were doing.

His throat ached in the way that said blood was rising up with each breath and he coughed wetly dragging himself to his feet yet again. For a moment the room swayed around him, or was he the one swaying, and he tried to take a deep breath only to end up coughing again. Steadying himself he turned to face the being that had caused so much strife in his family.

Fire blazed through his veins as he tightened the hold he had on the sword his eldest son made for him. Swallowing down the blood rising up his throat so he could breathe Finwe glared furiously at him. His eldest and middle sons may have eventually gotten along were it not for the vile lies that this being had spread. Maybe too his youngest would have come back to seeing him as his father in full had it not been for the cruel lies that divided them so.

Finwe snarled silently and lunged forwards trying to harm the Vala at least even if he knew that his actions would likely do little. If only he had actually listened to his instincts or his sons and their instincts, someone that had told him that the Valar releasing Melkor was folly and that it would only cause more damage in the end… if only… No there was no room for ‘if only’s here. Ungoliant wove her darkness around the room blocking even the light of the lamps spread around the chamber leaving him exposed for Melkor to attack, and attack Melkor did.

The brilliant biting pain that blossomed out from his chest rendered him breathless and immobile in an instant. A ragged gasp left his lips as he was tossed aside to land amid the wreckage strewn around the room. Even then lying there his life rapidly fading and all energy seeping away he tried to rise, his hand tried to tighten around the sword once more but all he managed was a choked sob as he knew that he was out of time here.

He knew that he would never get to know Arafinwe as the brilliant bird loving ellon he had grown into while at Alqualonde. Never would he sit across from Nolofinwe and discuss politics and the latest antics of Feanaro and his children that amused them over a game of chess and a pot of tea. Never would he see Feanaro smile at his brothers and greet them openly in public as just that, his brothers. All of that was gone now, cast into darkness and just as utterly destroyed as the doors that once kept this place safe.

That pain, the anguish of knowing he’d had the chance for all of that but had wasted it, that finally finally dragged him down into the same darkness that shroud everything that had once been bright and wonderful.


	3. Fingolfin Rides to His End

Anger, despair and grief circled and circled around his mind. Anger at all that had been lost because of the Vala, despair because it was so painfully clear that they had just been toys to play with to him that none of them had ever truly been taken seriously and grief because so many dear ones were gone now, never to return to this shore again. At last it all settled on anger and rage set his blood aflame and now at the end of this life, this cursed life where he never seemed to be enough, he understood. 

The rage against the impossible, the impossible that should be possible but so constantly dangled just out of reach, and the fury directed inwards because he should have been the one to find a way. A seething ball of wrath settled in his chest where only days before had been despair and grief fueling him on wards. Perhaps it was folly and would only earn him death or servitude, but he had enough simply waiting and watching for the Dark one to make his move.

His armor gleamed brilliantly as he rode towards the gates where his enemy and target dwelt. His sons would carry on without him and perhaps his actions would stir them into an equal rage. Perhaps his nephews would awaken in themselves the driving need to act and see their enemies fall. He knew not, but he did know that he had to act, and so act he would.

Riding across the wasteland that lie between everything and the fortress where the Vala dwelt he nearly lost his nerve but one thought kept him going one idea that he clung to. He was doing this for their children, for his children but also for his brother’s children. They needed this one bright spark of hope to keep going and if it took everything he had, every ounce of strength in his body to give them that then he would do it. He would stand before the Vala and give his life for them gladly.

Standing before the doors to Angband he raged and called out with all his fury and demanded that the Vala come forth to fight him. Perhaps he would regret this, but he did not think so. No he felt that this was all he could do. The one last thing that was needed to be true to his word. As the doors opened to allow the Vala out one thought lingered in his mind, ‘ _See now brother? I have followed you. I followed you though you tried to stop me, and I follow you still. Are you pleased now?_ ’


	4. Turgon Buried Under his Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes being buried alive so if that is a phobia or trigger you may want to skip it.

Terror had seized him the moment he realized just how badly he failed his people. They had counted on him, and his laws to protect them from the enemy. Yet he had failed them. How had it gotten this bad?

The irony of being buried under his own Tower, his favorite place to be so he could see his entire realm, was not lost on him. How often had he felt buried under the weight of his lineage and all the decisions that came with it? Too often and without anyone to comfort him since he’d left Fingon and their father.

There were so so many things that he wished he’d done differently. Bringing Maegling into his home properly for one, perhaps if his nephew had felt he could turn to someone things would have changed. Or possibly having Eol slain once he made it clear he would not stay in Gondolin as the law required rather than hesitating resulting in the death of his dear sister.

Shifting a bit a harsh hiss of pain tore free from his lips as a chunk of stone was freed from it’s place, lodged in his side. All at once he wished he’d not even tried to create such a haven, or that if he had that he’d made it for others while staying behind with his brother and father. Then Irisse could have been free and gone hunting with their cousins and he could have shared amusing letters with Findecano.

His deepest regrets were that he’d been unable to stop his father and brother from falling. Things had seemed so hopeless then and his father had been in the center of it all for so long that he’d lost hope himself. Then his brother, dear valiant Findacano had followed him falling just the same only worse because he’d waited too long to go help and so he’d failed his brother and king in the same breath all because he’d been afraid of Gondolin being found.

Shudders wracked his body though whether they were from suppressed sobs or from the chill that his loss of blood caused he didn’t know. What he did know was that they were only making his body fail him faster. Tears ran down his face quietly leaving hot streaks following them and he mourned that he’d failed them all. His cousins would get word that he’d fallen, betrayed by his kin, and his nephew would be given the crown, one that should not be his for years, but most of all he mourned for his daughter who would have to live with walking away and his mother who had stayed behind and would only learn about his death while helpless to do anything about it.

Closing his eyes against the dark empty view above him, and trying to shut out the sickly sweet smell of his blood that was clinging to him and making the dirt and everything it touched cling too, Turgon prayed that someone could comfort those who were left. He prayed that someone anyone would survive and be able to strengthen those who needed it later because he did too little too late and now he payed the price for it. As his body finally slowed down having lost too much to keep working Turgon marveled at the darkness he saw, for his eyes were closed yet he saw the exact shade of blue-black that had been his father’s hair.


	5. Celegorm in Doriath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use both the Quenya names and the Sindarin names in this one if that confuses you let me know and I'll add a list of who is who.

Curufin was there, not too far away but cooling having just breathed out his last and it hurt to have his little brother so close yet already ahead of him. Little Curvo who always followed a few steps behind him, a habit that had carried through for so long, and that had finally led his little brother to his death. His throat felt clogged and his breath was harsh as he looked at the body so he avoided it.

Rapid footsteps crossed the room drawing his attention. A small pained smile crossed his face as he saw that it was his big brother who had been there, he’d witnessed Curufin’s last moments judging by the anguished look on his face but he was there. After setting one of his blades on the ground next to him Maglor lifted his head and shoulders into his lap.

“Easy Tyelca… I’m here. I have you.” The words were soft and sad but firm. They reassured him that even with his fall Maedhros and the others would be cared for as well as his brother could manage.

“Failed…” He replied numbly keeping his eyes fixed on Maglor’s face. He just barely caught the slight hitch in his brother’s breath and nearly whined. He didn’t though because he still needed his breath to speak. “It’s gone…”

Maglor closed his eyes and nodded, his fingers carefully working through his hair in a way he found reassuring. His eyes slid half-closed and he nuzzled his brother’s leg.

“Sing something?” He murmured lowly looking up at his brother again. His breath was coming in soft pants and gasps now. Maglor smiled, it looked wrong but maybe it made him feel better to try pretending that Curvo wasn’t dead and that he wasn’t dying himself.

“Of course.” Maglor murmured lowly his fingers now caressing his cheek, they were sticky with blood but that’s okay he was already covered in it from trying to save Curvo. The first soft notes of the song stole his breath away. It had been so, so long since he’d heard that song. It was such a simple one but it had been there as long as he could remember. It was atar’s lullaby or that’s what they all called it, it didn’t sound the same but that was okay.

Celegorm smiled his eyes closing as he listened. His mind filled with the images of Carnistir curling up on a couch next to atar who was carding his fingers through his hair and Curufinwe sitting on the floor cuddling with the twins. Maitimo and Macalaure had always just sat across from atar and then carried them all to bed once they fell asleep as they always did when atar sang like that.

Perhaps it was part of the image created by the song and his brother but Celegorm felt his father’s arms around him once more and Maglor’s fingers through his hair gently lulling him to sleep. As he’d always been Celegorm was powerless to resist the call of sleep and the warmth of his father’s touch even if it was only in his mind.


	6. Maedhros Just before he jumped

* * *

It hit him like a hammer. Everything, every small fragment of hope that he’d managed to cling to shattered apart in his hands as he felt the burning of the jewel in his hand. Agony tore through him as he looked down at it, the bright once welcoming light that his father made what seemed a lifetime ago.

The Maia was right, he had no more claim on the jewel. Tears of pain and regret ran down his face cutting clean lines through the dirt and ashes that covered it. Looking around he wondered whether his brother fared any better than he though it was doubtful for they were equally guilty at this point. Not seeing his brother he smiled a broken bitter smile that conveyed only pain. At least Macalaure would not have to see what he’d become reduced to, his little brother could continue to think him the strong warrior he had been rather than this shattered hollowed out shell.

Turning he began climbing, once you hit the bottom all you could do was climb right? Yet it drained his strength steadily, both the jewel in hand and the climb. At the top though he looked down and saw a river of flame, crimson as the fires that his father used once daily. For just a moment his vision showed him his father standing there next to the crimson fires looking at him with that dearly missed smile. Then his brother’s voice cut through the image and he turned his head to see him.

Macalaure stood there behind him, below him on the slope, with horror in his eyes. For a moment he wondered why then it sunk in and he smiled happily as a new thought settled slowly, comfortably in his mind. His bright little songbird was a step ahead of him again, but he didn’t mind. This time it helped because now he needed to say nothing to explain.

“Brother please-” Macalaure’s voice cracked, weighted with pain and despair but he didn’t step towards him instead he smiled a little brighter holding the jewel in his hand a bit tighter.

Without saying anything at all he turned and looked down again. There father was once more but this time others were there too and he sighed softly. Yes, it was time. He took that last step and fell and fell and fell. Above him there was a cry of pain and grief and he spared a brief thought for his brother but he wasn’t worried Macalaure would find his own path and once he saw who was here waiting he would probably even join them so all would be well once more.


	7. Caranthir in Doriath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caranthir saw his own death long before it happens, but he's still so relieved that he has two people with him when it happens.

‘ _Get up, get up, getup, getup._ ’ 

The words circled around and around in Carnistir’s mind. He was surrounded, and he knew that this was probably the messy death he’d seen for himself so long ago, but he wanted desperately to fight it. He wanted to shrug off his wounds like he’d seen Maitimo and Macalaure do countless times but he couldn’t.

His limbs were becoming numb and less and less responsive. There across the courtyard was Macalaure fighting to try getting to him, and slowly gaining ground. Slowly was not quick enough though and with all the injuries, there were a lot of injuries, that he had accumulated Macalaure wasn’t going to get there in time. Carnistir met his brother’s eyes and gave him a small half-smile silently apologizing for falling here and now as he knew he was.

The way Macalaure’s eyes widened in shock and then filled with a pained understanding told him that his brother understood what was happening as well. A sharp burst of pain dragged his attention from his brother who was still trying to reach him, fighting even harder now as though he could change what was to happen. Carnistir swung his blade taking down two of those surrounding him with the one sweep then the others backed away and fled.

Dull uncertainty and confusion swept through him then he felt like he was falling. Something warm caught him and he was surrounded by a comforting and familiar scent. His lips twitched into a smile as he looked up. Teary silver eyes looked down at him coaxing a wider smile to his lips. Typical of Macalaure really to make it to him in time to send him to his rest.

“It’s done Cana.” He rasped, his mouth strangely dry now. “I will not be able to go any-”

“Shhh, I know. Tell atar that we’ll still try our best okay?”

Atar? Ah yes, he was going to atar. In fact he could practically see him now, standing there just out of reach in a shadowy corner watching him. His smile widened seeing him there. How he’d missed him, they all had truly but now he got to see him and go to him again. Working to lift a hand he reached out to him and it seemed like Macalaure knew what he was doing because he tightened his arms for a moment before releasing him.

“Go on Moryo. Go to him, I’ll do my best for the others now.”

With that blessing, those words and the knowledge that his brothers would look out for one another he finally touched his fingers to his fathers and the world around them faded to darkness.


	8. Celebrimbor in a Mordor Dungeon

He’d stood there armed and ready to face his once ally and now enemy, and for an instant thought he was ready. Perhaps he had been in the instant yet now… oh now Celebrimbor knew beyond any doubt that he hadn’t been ready.

Somewhere in his mind, a place that wasn’t consumed by the crescendo of agony that tore through his body, he wondered if maybe that was how his great-grandfather had felt standing there facing Morgoth holding only the sword he son had created for him. If maybe Finwe had felt equally sure that he could stand strong only to see that no, he didn’t have the strength to stand against a Vala of any sort.

Muted and choked sunlight managed to make it’s way though the barred window and he thought briefly of walking through the rich green lands of Eregion and the vibrant hues of gems as they were polished and cut to make gorgeous jewelry. Then he tore his thoughts from that because that was where the knowledge that An- no Sauron that was the knowledge that Sauron wanted. The knowledge that Celebrimbor had chosen to take with him to his grave and that he would not for any reason give to him.

There was a voice that whispered that just sharing the information would end his torment that he tried to ignore but it was so hard some days. There had been little reason to keep the knowledge secret from his once friend that he had nearly betrayed himself many times already and only the wretched reminder of what happened to his family thanks to glowing beautiful jewels kept his secret as his.

Exhaustion was sinking in though and his mental defenses were wearing thin, thin enough that it was simply a matter of time now before he would give to Sauron the last key to dominate all of Ennor and despair started to sink in. He made it so far, so much further than he’d thought he would ever get, and now at the end he would falter and fail casting those he’d once called friends and family into darkness and doom.

Tears ran down his face creating streaks through the blood splattered on his cheeks and the dirt that covered in. Had he any more energy he knew he would be sobbing, crying out for his father or grandfather or anyone who may just maybe have some mercy for him. A slight movement outside the window caught his attention and he looked. Seeing a black orcish arrow flying towards him managed to coax a smile to his face and he relaxed relief and gratitude filling his eyes as he looked up to where he thought it came from.


	9. Ambarussa at Sirion

In another world they would have died at completely different times, one in fire and one under fire. That was a completely different world to this though. Around them the city burned and screams were heard while the warriors, so much fewer than they’d thought but they had been Turgon’s so they were strong and enduring, fought them despite Maglor’s request that if they weren’t attacked they did not attack.

Their brother would have to suffer disappointment along with the sight of so many hewn down around them. Because the two of them were not about to allow the jewel to escape in the hands of one of these refugees, not again. Not after it slipping through their fingers as it had last time.

Yet it caught them by surprise, the sudden burst of agony. An arrow embedded itself deep in the throat of the elder of the twins, slowing and ending the steady steadfast support that his twin relied upon for fighting. His lungs ached and for a moment they were in complete harmony as they raged against this cruel and abrupt end to their battle.

The younger of the two screamed his rage at his foes sending them scurrying away, trying to avoid his suddenly desperately bloodthirsty blade that no longer seemed to care if it sought the blood of an innocent who was unarmed and empty-handed or that of a warrior who wielded a blade or an arrow against those who wore the star on such rich crimson cloth.

It was suddenly and unexpectedly that a blade tore into his side driving his breath from his body and leaving him to fall next to his twin. He gasped sharply and dragged himself over to his twin. Meter by aching meter he dragged himself closer to him and rested sprawled half over him, their blood pooling around the two of them even as he looked up dazed and trying to see if anyone friendly was there.

A slow pained smile spread across his face as he spotted their eldest brother and with that reassurance he allowed himself to sink into the same darkness that had claimed his twin only moments before. Maedhros would manage somehow, especially if he and Maglor pulled through. They’d manage, they always did….


	10. Angrod and Aegnor in the Flames

Fire spread out coming towards them. Both knew that there was little to no chance that they’d make it out of the flames alive yet both felt the need to try. One tried for his mortal lady who waited for his return or more likely who felt the lack of his return keenly and the other tried for his son and their brother who was no doubt waiting for them praying that they would make it out of the flames somehow.

The flames drew ever closer to them though, their people already having their skin turn red from the heat and their lungs seemed to be burning from it as well. Yet panting they kept moving trying, trying so very hard despite how inevitable it seemed to be, to get away and for one glorious moment it seemed like they would make it to safety. It seemed as though the mountains would serve to rescue them from the burning grasses and the searing heat that hounded them.

It was not to be though, the crimson and amber flames that hounded the corners of their vision raced ahead of them trapping them within it’s hold, stealing away any chance they had to get to freedom and their brother or even their cousins. Angrod flung himself over his younger brother, one last attempt to save at least one person even though he knew it was futile to even try at that point.

Agony tore at them and Aegnor shed a single tear at the thought of the mortal woman who had so captured his heart, his lovely Andreth who would only hear of his death from another. The elder mourned that he’d never be able to tell his son, Orodeth, that he was indeed proud of him or their brother that he should give the mortal Lady a chance before he turned her away from their brother’s side.

Yet laying there amid the roaring flames they both felt a gentle coolness touch their minds and they clung to each other a small smile on their faces as they drank in the reassurance that not all hope was lost with this defeat. That somehow their little sister would see things through and would live to see their enemy fall.


End file.
